


Danger and other vices

by EnviousWriter



Series: Danger and Other Vices [1]
Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Extremely Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 03:19:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10068806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnviousWriter/pseuds/EnviousWriter
Summary: Years after MI6 left him to try a normal life, Alex is still not right. His fantasies are wrong, his reaction to pain is messed up. And then he's given some news that changes everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes a story is about getting your own messy feelings out of yourself. That's what this is. I still hope you enjoy it.

Just like every Thursday, when he sat inside that pleasantly lit, magnolia office, the pale, inexpressive eyes of Dr Padash searched Alex’s face for hidden words, for the things Alex didn’t say but kept trapped deep inside him. Alex resented the intrusion. There wasn’t much left to those secrets now. Dr Padash was too good at her job. Uncle, parents, guardian, authority figures. People with the task of defending the country. Each and every one of them had been discussed and dissected in this office.  The pleasant pot plants, the calming framed prints on the walls, the typical smart and comfortable furniture contrasted perversely with the conversations shared by Alex and the short, quiet woman in her fifties, who looked at his face and knew exactly when he was lying.

On a certain day, a few months after his eighteenth birthday, Alex thought for the thousandth time, that this woman could extort whatever she wanted from him. It was probably a blessing that Alex was now so broken he would never possess enough to make extortion worth her while.

As always she spoke in a gentle, professional manner. A probing question, but spoken without judgement. Alex felt neither vilified or absolved by Dr Padash. Just heard.

“These desires,” she said, “Do you think they stem from the experiences you had as a teenager?”

This conversation had Alex blushing even without her condemnation. “What do you mean?” he asked. His throat was dry. He swallowed saliva, but there was none in his mouth. He coughed.

Dr Padash’s gaze held firm, as it always had and always would. Not necessarily on his eyes, but any body language could give him away at any moment. “I’m suggesting that the desires to be hurt, to be captured, and your linking of those ideas to your sexuality, could have originated with your experiences working with MI6,” said Dr Padash. “Do you think it’s possible?”

Alex tried to lick his lips but there was no moisture on his tongue. “People have those desires without the background I’ve had,” he said. “I’ve seen it on the internet.”

Dr Padash nodded, “Of course.”

“I know the realities of being held against my will,” said Alex stiffly, “Shouldn’t that make me want to stay away from anything remotely violent.”

“Maybe,” said Dr Padash, “But when your peers were discovering their first sexual encounters, you were discovering your first hostage situations. It would be understandable if you’ve associated sexuality with dangerous situations.”

Alex shrugged and looked away from her.

“Are there any figures from that time that you found sexually attractive?” Dr Padash asked.

Alex shook his head, his lips gluing themselves together.

Dr Padash checked her notes. “You’ve described a number of people you knew then as good looking,” she said, “Julia Rothman, Tamara Knight, Wolf, Fox, Yassen Gregor…”

“No,” said Alex. “Julia Rothman was a psychopath. Tamara, Wolf and Ben were good people, but I would never have looked at them that way. There was always too much else going on.”

Dr Padash looked at him steadily, waiting for him to qualify his denial of the other name on her list. There may have been more, but she would have noticed the one that made him jump to his negative.

“And Yassen Gregorivich?” Dr Padash prompted, when Alex failed to continue.

“Is dead,” Alex said, stiffly.

“So is Julia Rothman,” said Dr Padash.

Alex shrugged again. But he knew Dr Padash would get the answers she wanted from him. It was inevitable. It always was.

…

Ben Daniels, Fox, appeared opposite Alex in the library towards the end of his first year of college.

Alex hadn’t seen him coming. He’d been focusing on his essay, and had looked up without paying attention, expecting to see another bleary eyed student, trying desperately to cram for the finals. When he’d seen the face, the five years that had passed showing only in the tiniest of lines at the edge of the eyes and a slightly higher hairline than he remembered, he had done nothing but look for full minutes.

“Hello Alex,” said Ben.

“No,” said Alex.

Ben smiled, sadly, “I thought you’d say that,” he said, “but I hoped you’d hear me out anyway.”

“I haven’t finished college,” Alex said, plainly, “When I do, I might try grad school. When I’m done with that, if I want to get involved with any of that again, I’ll apply through the website like a normal person.”

Ben didn’t look even slightly offended. Nor did he look like he’d given up.

“Alex,” he said, “It’s been five years since anyone called on you. That’s a huge amount of time in this business.”

“Yes, it is,” said Alex, “I put on fifteen pounds this year. I’m out of shape.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Five years since we called on you, not five years since we checked on you,” he said, “We know you’re on the mixed martial arts team, we know you run every day…”

“Well you shouldn’t fucking know,” Alex told him.

“Maybe,” Ben agreed.

“I’ve got exams,” said Alex.

“I know,” said Ben.

Alex looked at him levelly. He took a breath. “What is it?”

“I’d like to discuss this somewhere more private,” Ben told him, quietly, but Alex just looked at him.

Ben sighed.

“A few years ago we managed to turn an agent,” he said. “Former Scorpia, expert in his field. It was his accepting of our offer that allowed us to leave you alone for so long.”

“And?” Alex said, in an attempt to be as rude as possible.

“And,” said Ben, “He’s gone AWOL. Failed to show for a scheduled meeting, failed to respond to multiple attempts at contact…”

“Eaten by a shark?” Alex suggested, “Stung by a monster jellyfish? Poisoned? Shot? Stabbed? Harvested for organs?”

“We can find no evidence that he died,” said Ben. “It’s possible, but we believe he is still alive.”

“Good for him,” said Alex, “Is there a reason you’re talking to me about this?”

Ben leaned forward. “We have reason to believe he might try to make contact with you.”

Alex sighed. “Let me guess. He secretly still loves Scorpia and wants to kill me?”

“We don’t know,” said Ben.

Alex frowned. “What?”

“We don’t know if he wants to kill you,” Ben repeated, “He may do, but we think that’s not it.”

“Then… what?” said Alex. “Who is this man?”

Ben leaned closer. “We believe that you knew him as Yassen Gregorovich.”

A penetrating blue stare, distinctive lips, lithe as a dancer but vicious and powerful.

“Yassen Gregorovich died,” said Alex.

Ben frowned. “Is that what they told you?”

“I saw him die,” said Alex. “He was shot, right in front of me. He died.”

“He was shot,” Ben agreed, “more than once, I believe…”

“By Damian Cray!” said Alex. “I saw it happen!”

Ben spoke slowly, carefully, “He was in hospital for a long time. MI6 wanted the information he could offer. They wanted him alive.”

Alex turned away, glaring hard at the window to their right. Was that a figure in the building opposite? It couldn’t be.

“Alex,” said Ben, “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but we believe he was watching you before he vanished.”

Of course he fucking was, Alex thought.

“We believe he may have accessed your file, found your address. We need you to move.”

“Move?” Alex snapped, “I go to school here! You want me to drop out because you were dumb enough to believe a Russian assassin could work for the British government without an ulterior motive!”

“We’ll post security detail here,” said Ben, “At the end of the year, we’ll transfer you, and give you a new name.”

“Oh, fine!” Alex hissed, “I’ll just switch schools, no problem. It’s not like I spent ages finding the courses I wanted at the campus I liked. It’s not like I’ve made friends.”

Ben didn’t reply. Alex didn’t blame him. This was a stupid teenaged tantrum, and Alex wasn’t a teenager anymore. He groaned.

“Fuck!” he said, and ran a hand through his hair.

Ben nodded in solidarity.

“What about the Pleasures?” Alex asked.

“We’ve posted security for them as well. Edward Pleasure was offered a new name before, but he is a public figure of sorts, and turned it down. We don’t think Gregorovich will interfere with them, but if he does, we’ll be waiting.”

Alex looked away again. He was angry, and bitterly disappointed. This was a life. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the start of something. He had made friends, he had even had some casual flings. He was working towards a future free of MI6. It was all being stolen, again.

And Yassen was alive. How was Alex supposed to react to that news?

“Fuck,” he repeated, quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Ben repeated.

The essay was not going to be finished that night.

…

“See?” said Alex to the sceptical barman, “21!”

He held his ID. Alexander Hyde. Born eleven months before Alex Rider, and legally allowed to drink in the USA. He’d pointed out to Ben that if he were still in Britain, he’d have been legally allowed to drink for a long time already. Ben had shrugged, and winked.

The barman took the ID and checked it carefully. It was a real ID. It was Alexander Hyde that was fake.

“Beer,” said Alex, taking his ID back with a grin.

The barman fetched his drink, and Alex looked around him. The club was packed. Hundreds of people, dressed in their highest heels or best shirt, coiffed and smelling of a hundred different perfumes, writhed on the dance floor or crammed around tables or leaned against walls or pillars. In England, they’d called this ‘on the pull’. In America, the nearest term he’d found was ‘looking to get laid’. He almost never did it himself, but he figured Alex Hyde could have more differences to Alex Rider than just a name and a date of birth.

A woman in a blue dress had made eye contact more than once. She was sat with some friends at a table, but Alex doubted she could hear any of them over the music. The barman passed him his drink, and Alex wished he’d waited and offered her one, too. That would have been a good opener. He’d have to come up with something cool but funny. Witty. Smarmy. He was a spy, it should be easy.

He turned back to the bar. How did normal people start conversations in bars?  He shoved a hand into his pocket to pay for his beer, but the barman had gone to the next person already, forgetting the money. Alex shrugged and put his wallet away thoughtlessly. The man next to him turned towards him. Alex didn’t pay much attention. He was wondering if using a line from a film was funny or pathetic. He didn’t even look at the man until the gun was pressing into his belly.

Alex froze, still facing the bar, which was probably hiding the gun from other customers. He turned his head, very slowly so the owner of the gun wouldn’t suspect he was up to anything.

“I think you can guess who would do this, little Alex,” said Yassen Gregorovich.

Alex breathed out slowly, then back in again. “There are people watching me from MI6,” he said, speculatively.

“No,” said Yassen. “One had a sudden emergency he had to deal with and the other has fallen asleep in the car outside. You no longer warrant their more competent employees.”

“What do you want?” Alex asked,

Yassen leaned in close to his ear. “We can walk out of here and to my car, and I’m sure you’ll find out.”

Alex frowned, even as his heart raced. “I was about to pull,” he said.

“Pull?”

“It’s English slang. It means I was about to get lucky. With a girl.” He nodded his head in the direction of the woman in the blue dress. Yassen glanced over quickly.

“No, you weren’t,” he said. “Come on.”

As he moved to leave, Alex took another look at blue dress. She was happily talking to a guy. Alex groaned.

He was pushed in front of Yassen. The gun was no longer pressed against him, but he knew well enough that it was within easy reach of Yassen. He saw the exit, an awkward squeeze through a lot of people, but he could still run when they got outside. The club was on a busy New York street. There would be other people around, but not enough to block his way.

The second they got through the door, Yassen’s hand had formed a harsh circle around his wrist. The gun was not obvious enough for Alex to try to take it. He didn’t really have a choice but to follow where Yassen led.

“Well?” he said, “We’re outside. You can tell me what you want now.”

Yassen turned them down an alley, without replying. Then further still. Then the next street and the next. Eventually he said, “Trunk or bondage?”

“What?” said Alex.

Yassen stopped next to a black BMW. “Americans say trunk, British say boot. You can go in there, or you can be tied up. Which would you prefer?”

“Neither, really, thanks all the same,” said Alex.

Yassen looked at him. “I think bondage,” he said, and pulled open the passenger door. “Sit.”

He didn’t really wait to see if Alex obeyed. He tugged Alex into the position he wanted him. Yassen still had a few inches on him and a lot of extra strength. And a gun quietly in a shoulder holster on his left side. Alex spotted it and went for it at the same second, but Yassen saw it coming anyway.

He caught Alex’s exploring hand. “No,” he said, simply, then clipped a handcuff onto that wrist. He pulled the other hand towards him, too, and it met the same fate as its opposite. Alex stared at the metal encasing his wrist. He hadn’t had something like this happen to him since he was fifteen. He was scared, but also humiliated. He couldn’t get that stupid conversation with Dr Padash out of his mind.

Yassen dropped Alex’s trapped wrists, and then used a hand on Alex’s head to push him onto the seat. Alex didn’t even resist. Even when Yassen bent down to press his feet legs together and caught them with a cable tie. Adrenaline was blossoming in Alex’s stomach like a drug. He blew out another breath, then bit his lip.

“No fight, Alex?” Yassen asked. “You were not always so.”

Alex went to stand, but Yassen merely pushed him back down. A rope passed over his head, and fix around his middle, holding his elbows to his side and his torso to the car seat. Alex gasped. Yassen lifted his eyes to meet Alex's.

“Struggle,” said Yassen.

Suddenly Alex did just that. Nothing like his training. It wasn’t a careful picking of the handcuff lock, it wasn’t even a search for a tool. It was a visceral struggle against his bonds, as though he could shift them with just his own will and the violence of his movement. His breathing was hard and fast, his body bruised by each piece of bondage within seconds and his blood as ringing I his ears. He bit his lip, and looked at Yassen’s eyes. He gave up.

Yassen smiled at him. “Oh, yes,” said Russian. “This is how it was meant to be.”


	2. Chapter 2

Alex twisted his wrists in the cuffs. They were tight enough that there was no getting them over his hands. Alex had not thought to tense his muscles as they were put on him, which might have helped keep them loose, and he doubted Yassen would have let him get away with such an old trick anyway. The metal pressed into his wrists in two places on each side, tighter than a cop would have fastened them. The lock faced away from his hands, which meant picking it would be a challenge. He would expect no less from Yassen Gregorowich. He looked around himself, looking for an instrument to help him. Anything narrow enough to fit where they key would go. Yassen’s car was spotless.

He had some paper clips in his pocket. He’d not left his personal safety entirely up to MI6. There was a switchblade in there, too, though he’d never felt comfortable carrying a gun. And his phone and wallet. None of that mattered, because it took Yassen seconds to empty both pockets. Alex sat still, allowed him to do what he wanted. His mouth hung open, his hands prickling in anticipation. And Yassen Gregorovich smiled at him.

“Are you going to tell me your plan now?” Alex asked.

Yassen patted him on the head and shut him in the car. Alex shivered, and tried to search once more for a way to pick the lock on the cuffs. The rope stopped him reaching the glove compartment, and there was nothing obvious within reach. He hadn’t quite finished looking when Yassen was opening the driver side door and climbing in.

“There are easier ways to kill me,” Alex said, probably as much to himself as to Yassen. A small comfort in the darkness.

Yassen nodded. “I agree.”

Alex watched his face. “Then…”

Yassen made eye contact once again, as captivating as the bonds that held Alex. Alex’s breath caught. But Yassen started the car, and turned to the road, before giving more information.

“Is it SCORPIA?” Alex asked.

“No,” said Yassen. “The remaining members are pragmatic. They do not care about one broken boy.”

“So you’ll answer yes or no?” said Alex. “About who you’re working for?”

Yassen didn’t reply.

“Is it a national secret service? A certain country?” Alex asked.

Again, silence.

“Is it a triad? The mafia? A terrorist organisation?”

No response. The car was moving swiftly down New York streets. Alex recognised the journey north, out of the city, and they were going fast.

“But, you’re not going to kill me?” Alex asked, “We established that, right?”

“We agreed there were easier ways,” said Yassen. “I could have shot you, but then people would have noticed. I could have poisoned your drink, but again, people would have noticed you die.”

“But if I die, MI6 will know it was you,” said Alex.

“But if you just disappear, they’ll think you ran away,” said Yassen. His driving stance was relaxed. His eyes never left the road, and it was clear to Alex that he was trained in the art of high speed driving. Alex could try to cause an accident, but it would likely damage him as much as Yassen. More, because Alex would be unable to escape the aftermath.

“They’ll know I haven’t,” said Alex.

Just one smile, one look of pleasure, more than Alex had ever seen from Yassen, as the assassin asked, “How?”

It was, presumably, a rhetorical question, designed to make Alex feel uneasy. It succeeded, Alex squirmed, but then he spilled everything. Fox visiting him, everything he’d heard. Once again, Yassen didn’t comment, and Alex filled the silence. Nothing he said was important. He asked why, he speculated, he pleaded, he stopped short of begging, but he tried to make a deal. He took an age to talk himself out of words, and by the time he did, they’d cleared the city streets, gone beyond the suburbs. Still further, they travelled, until there weren’t just houses anymore. A few hours driving through the night could get one a long way.

Yassen pulled off the road suddenly, through some trees, and Alex’s imagination flew. If Yassen needed to hide his body, a disused space like those far from main roads could be perfect. Alex wriggled again, managing to displace the rope until it was above his chest, until he could push it with his arms. It wasn’t tight above his chest, and he managed to grab it and push it over his head. He gasped aloud when he managed it.

“Very good,” said Yassen, “but you cannot outrun me with the tie on your ankles.

He lifted his feet onto the seat in front of him, then worked at the tie with his hands. It was above his clothes, but viciously tight. He could tug his jeans from under it, take his shoes off, then try to slip it over his ankles.

Yassen turned another corner, and Alex nearly fell onto him. While he was righting himself, he heard Yassen praising him some more. “You have some flexibility. Good. Keep going.

Alex glared at him. He tugged the material of his jeans free, and the cable tie felt looser, but still firm. He pulled off his trainers, then tried to work the tie over his feet. It slipped as low as the ankle bone, the little round bubble proving that bit too wide for the plastic. Alex grunted at it.

He tried something else, using his fingers to feel for any sharp bits of metal on the handcuffs. Any sort of edge that could damage the plastic, but the cuffs were well made, the edges smooth and rounded. He had an idea. The window beside him. It was glass. If he broke it…

“Hmm, this is taking a long time,” said Yassen. “We will arrive in a minute, and then I will rebind you.”

“Arrive where?” Alex asked, trying to imagine breaking the window without hurting himself now his trainers were off. He’d lost them on the floor. He put his feet back down and searched for them.

“You’ll see, little Alex,” said Yassen. He turned down another road, a dirt track that made the whole car rumble. “Quick, little Alex, quick!” he teased. “Not long now.”

He scooped up a trainer in his feet and passed it to his hands. He held it. This was going to hurt. There would be glass everywhere if it worked. Or nothing would happen.

The car stopped. Alex was so surprised he dropped the shoe.

“Oh dear,” said Yassen, “This must mean I get to keep you.”

He switched off the engine and was gone in a moment. Alex stared, heart dropping. He could see the shadow of Yassen passing around the car, then arriving beside his door. He opened the door, and crouched down in the doorway, picking up Alex’s trainers.

“You will want these back on,” said Yassen. “Hold still.”

“Please,” Alex tried again, “Please, you don’t have to… I’m not a threat to anyone.”

Yassen slipped one of the trainers onto his feet and retied the lace.

“I … I can pay you,” Alex tried.

“No you can’t,” said Yassen. “If you’d ever had the money to employ an assassin, your life would have been very different.” He put the other trainer on Alex’s foot, then a knife appeared in his hand. Alex gasped.

Yassen cut the tie between his feet, and took a hold of the Alex’s arm. “Come,” he instructed, coolly. He tugged and Alex could not resist the strength of that pull. He fell out of the car, only getting his balance because Yassen stopped to close the door. It was not even a moment’s respite, because then they were on again, forward. Towards a decrepit looking house.

“This could all be a big trap for you, you know,” said Alex, “MI6 could be tracing you, they could leap out at any moment.”

The assassin threw him against the side of the house. Alex crashed into the brick, the side of his arm hitting hard as he raised his bound hands to protect his face. He grunted with the pain. Yassen didn’t let up. He shove Alex so his front pressed against the wall. Alex turned his head to avoid grazes, and tried to push back, but Yassen’s whole body was flush against him.

“You know, you haven’t even tried to fight since I took you,” said Yassen. “I remembered you having more spirit.”

“I’m biding my time,” Alex breathed.

“You have grown wiser?” Yassen asked, sounding very doubtful.

Alex sneered, “You always suggested I had a choice. I didn’t, you know.”

Yassen seemed to get even closer, so close Alex thought he could feel his lips moving. “Like now?”

Alex shivered.

A click to the side told him the door had opened. “Well, little Alex,” said Yassen. “Let’s see how good you’ve got.” He took a firm hold of Alex’s arm once again, and pushed him through the door. Alex had time to glance around himself, to take in the dingy room, before he was tripped, landing flat on the floor. He caught himself on cuffed hands before his face hit the dusty wood. “So,” said Yassen, flicking on a switch by the door, “I give you two minutes to escape. Then I add another layer of bondage. Does that sound fun?”

Alex stared at him. The light of a single, uncovered bulb danced in his eyes.

“Good,” said Yassen, as though Alex had answered. “Go.”

Alex stared. Yassen stood back, giving him space, stepping back. From his sprawling place on the floor, Alex checked around once more. He was in a dusty and shabbily furnished living room. There was a moth eaten couch in the middle, and a TV from the seventies. He still needed some way to pick the lock on the handcuffs. He looked for a likely material, something narrow. But even as he searched he knew two minutes weren’t enough. He scrambled to his feet and ran to the door.

Yassen caught him round the shoulders, pulling him off balance. “No,” he said. Then he threw him back down to the floor.

Alex had less luck catching his fall this time, and scraped his knees as he skidded, but he didn’t stop to think about it. He was up again, springing to his feet, and running for a window, away from Yassen this time. He grabbed the old handle, but even as he tried to pull it free, he recognised that it was painted shut. He searched for something to break the glass, tried to imagine picking up and throwing the TV with his hands less than two inches apart. But by then, Yassen was, once again, on top of him.

He caught Alex with an arm across his throat. “Oh, dear, that was not better,” he crooned, “Not long now, little Alex.”

He threw Alex back into the centre of the room, and again Alex stumbled, but fought to regain his feet. He’d spotted another opening, a dark doorway. It was his only remaining option. He ran for it. It was the biggest mistake he’d made so far. The doorway lead only to stairs. He knew only idiots ran upstairs in horror films, but Yassen was close behind, so Alex went that way. Up.

The stairway was lined with yellowing wallpaper of cracked red and blue flowers. Breathlessly, Alex kept going, no plan in his head. Stupid. Yassen’s footsteps behind him weren’t even hurried.

At the top of the stairs was a choice of three doors, all closed. Alex picked the closest. He slammed the handle down, and flew inside. It was a bedroom. Made clear by the double bed against one wall. He tore his eyes away from it. Those thoughts wouldn’t help him.

There was another window here, hidden behind pale curtains. He ran to it, shoved the curtains aside, to reveal bars.

“No!” he gasped.

The door to the bedroom closed behind him.

“Oh dear, little Alex,” said Yassen, “You’re two minutes are up.”


	3. Chapter 3

Alex spun, his back to the bars. There had to be another option. But even as he thought, Yassen was before him again. Again, he tripped Alex, dropping him down to the floor. This time, Yassen followed, and sat on his thighs.

“That was a lot of running, Alex,” said Yassen. “It did not help you. Let’s take away that option, now. See if you start using your brain.” Another cable tie appeared in his hand, and was fastened, securely, around Alex’s ankles, except this time Yassen pulled the jeans out of the way first. The plastic dug into Alex’s bare flesh. Alex swore, but once again, Yassen stood up and stepped back. “Two minutes,” he said.

Alex wasted full seconds lying still, gasping for breath. He looked up again at Yassen, confusion and fear clouding his judgement. No more running until he’d broken the cord on his feet. He took a deep breath, and rolled over and into a sitting position. The blasted plastic was tight. Yassen had not been gentle. It could cut off his circulation.

He felt around the plastic for weak spots, but it was new and clean. He needed tools, something to break the bond. Or something to pick the locks with. Or something corrosive or explosive. By the bed, he saw a wooden cabinet, just a drawer and a cupboard, but there could be something in it. He shuffled over, legs, then arms, legs than arms, pulling himself along on his knees. The drawer first. Inside was very little, just a bible, an old penny and, alarmingly, some condoms and a little bottle. Alex shoved it closed.

“Not long, Alex,” said Yassen.

The cabinet contained some old papers and a pen. Alex grabbed the pen, a battered biro. Instantly, he used the pointed nib to attack the bonds on his feet, trying to wear down the material, weaken it enough to snap. Then the papers came back to his mind. Paper clips. They could be unbent and used to pick a lock. He abandoned the pen, and grabbed up the papers. There were no paper clips, but some were joined by a staple. The tiny bit of metal glinted with promise.

He worked it free of the paper, and pricking his fingers as he went.

“Not bad,” said Yassen, “But you had two minutes.”

Alex protested. It definitely didn’t feel like two minutes, but Yassen ignored him. He stormed forward once more, and manhandled Alex until he was flat on his front, then undid the cuffs. Alex huffed out a surprised breath, but the reprieve was short-lived. Alex’s hands were being moved, forced behind his back. Cuffed behind was going to be near impossible to pick. He couldn’t reach the lock with his fingers, nor with his mouth as had been his plan until that point.

“Why?” Alex gasped, as once again Yassen climbed off him and stood back.

But all Yassen did was repeat himself. “Two minutes.”

Miraculously, Alex was still holding the staple. Through all that, he hadn’t dropped it. He went by touch, feeling for the lock. As he suspected, it faced away from his wondering fingers. He groaned in frustration. But he could still run with his hands behind him. He returned his attention to the bonds on his feet. He pulled his feet up under him and managed to kneel. He scratched at the plastic tie that joined his ankles with his staple, a paltry tool against the material, but at least he was trying, and his hands would only just reach. He scratched and scratched. He had no idea if it was making a difference. He couldn’t see the bonds without moving his feet in front of him, where his hands would never reach. It was a waste of time to look. Precious time.

“Tick, tock,” said Yassen.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

“Times up,” said Yassen.

“No way!” cried Alex, “that wasn’t two minutes!”

But Yassen ignored his words, and stepped up. He grabbed Alex’s arms, pulled him up and shoved him onto the bed. Alex flailed with sudden panic, bucking, trying to get his feet under him, but Yassen continued to shove until he was lying on his front on the bed. Then he forced Alex to bend his knees, and pulled his ankles up. He dragged Alex’s bound wrists downwards, too, and in no time at all, Alex could not move his ankles away from his wrists. They were bound to each other behind his back.

“Fuck!” he shouted.

“Figure out what it is,” said Yassen, quietly. “Two minutes.”

With hands bound to feet, Alex could barely move around anymore. He felt around with his fingers, feeling his feet and their bond, and then another cable tie. It took him a few moments to recognise that this tie looped around his cuffs and his foot restraints. It kept his back arched.

He dropped to his side. At some point, he’d lost the staple. He hoped it was only on the bed beside him, but if it was it was hidden amongst the sheets. He wriggled to the edge of the mattress, looked over the floor. The pen was a foot away. If he could break the bond on his feet, the extra tie connecting that to his arms would be redundant. He felt the tie once more, found some scratches made by the staple. They were not enough by themselves to break the bond.

Getting off the bed was going to hurt. He had no way to break his fall, and even rolling would be difficult in his restraints. But the pen still gave him hope. He wriggled. He still had some flexibility in his knees, just enough to keep him balanced. Slowly, he pushed a leg over the side of the bed, then the other, and then half slid, half tumbled painfully to his knees. He grunted, swore, told Yassen he was a bastard, but kept on his quest. He had to turn away from the pen to reach it, had to bend his back until he almost lay upon his hands. A less strong person might have been stuck in that position, but Alex managed to sit back up, his prize grasped in his fingers. Once again, he began the steady sawing motion.

Yassen hummed, apparently thoughtful, “Consistent approach, but not imaginative, Alex,” he said.

“Fuck you!” Alex told him.

“I think you’ve had two minutes,” said Yassen.

“No! I fucking haven’t!” Alex cried.

“Well, being insulted makes me feel angry,” said Yassen, “And when I’m angry I miscount.”

He grabbed Alex’s arms once more. He should not have been able to lift Alex. He was not young and Alex was not light, but he managed to manhandle Alex back on to the bed, even as Alex swore at him again and again. “Now,” said Yassen.

A thick black cloth covered Alex’s eyes. He could feel it being tied tight at the back of his head. The removal of his sight was more psychological than anything. It wouldn’t stop him sawing at his leg bonds with his pen, still gripped in his hand. But the pen was suddenly plucked from his grip.

“Hey!” he protested.

“I do not have to be fair, little Alex,” said Yassen, “It is my game after all.”

“You don’t have to kidnap me at all!” Alex cried. “What do you want?”

He was not given an answer. It was so unfair Alex shouted out his frustration. He could hear Yassen moving about, but he just tensed his muscles and tried to thrash his way out of his bonds. Once again he swore at his captor, called him names, shouted abuse. It would not help him, he knew, but still the words tumbled out of him. He took moments to notice the slight hissing noise that had begun.

“Tell me about the first time you met Yassen Gregorovich.”

Dr Padash’s voice. Alex was completely disoriented for a moment. How could Dr Padash be here? He hadn’t spoken to her since he’d left high school. Why would she be in a tiny house in upstate New York?

“I saw him shoot someone on a rooftop in London,” said Alex’s voice, with the slightly childish edge of a seventeen year old, when he was still confused about the best accent to use in every day conversation. A recording of his own therapy sessions was being played to him years later.

“And what did you think of him?” Dr Padash asked seventeen year old Alex in a magnolia office in the past. She sounded so calm, as though it were an innocuous question, even though she knew it wasn’t.

“I thought he was a murderer,” said seventeen year old Alex, too fast, too defensive.

“And?” Dr Padash asked.

“Stop it!” Alex cried in the present.

But his younger self ignored him, and said, thoughtlessly, with no notion that one day Yassen Gregorovich himself might hear, “He killed my Uncle; the only family I had left.”

“And?” Dr Padash prompted.

“And… he was dangerous,” said young Alex. He couldn’t hear Alex himself shouting for him to stop.

“And?” Dr Padash prompted.

“And… what?” young Alex demanded, “What do you want me to say?”

Alex tugged on the plastic that held his feet to his hands, pulled and pulled with all his might.

“I want you to tell me what you thought,” said Dr Padash, “Why you hate talking about him so much more than the other people who have hurt you.”

“Yassen didn’t… I … he said he didn’t kill children,” said Alex.

“But you said yourself,” Dr Padash prompted, “That was a lie.”

“Yes, it was,” said Alex, “he was part of a plan that would have killed thousands of children.”

“But you still found him attractive,” said Dr Padash.

“No!” young Alex shouted, at the same time as Alex from the present.

“Hush, little Alex,” said Yassen, “I like this bit.”

“No?” Dr Padash repeated. She didn’t believe him. Why couldn’t she just let him lie to himself?

“No,” said Alex, quietly.

“You described him as attractive,” said Dr Padash.

“I… he was … handsome,” said Alex.

“And you were attracted to him?” Dr Padash asked.

“I was fourteen!” Alex protested.

“You were old enough to recognise attraction when you felt it,” said Dr Padash.

“But I was … confused!” said young Alex.

“Turn it off!” The Alex bound on a bed shouted, furiously.

Dr Padash had not felt the need to prompt Alex to say more. He remembered, vividly, how the woman had watched him with steady eyes, and how Alex had just caved to them.

“Please turn it off!” he begged, “Please!”

“It wasn’t so much that first time,” said the recorded Alex, “I … it was later. He told me to stop working for MI6, and then he left me. I… I felt… bereft.”

Again silence greeted him. The woman let him continue. A young Alex, trying to explain an even younger Alex’s messed up head.

“I … I… I don’t know!” Alex cried. “Every time someone caught and tied me up and tried to kill me, I was terrified but… I was so excited too! Adrenaline is a drug, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Dr Padash agreed.

“It’s addictive,” said Alex, “And then there was this beautiful man who looked at me and … and I thought… I don’t know! It was like he knew me! And he was the most terrifying of them all. He killed people for money, and he didn’t think about it. And yet, when he looked at me… he…. He had so many chances to kill me. He could have three times or more and he just… never did.”

“Because he didn’t kill you, you felt some gratitude?” asked Dr Padash.

“No!” Alex snapped, “I felt… special. And like we were bound together. You know?”

Dr Padash had nodded, then, though the tape didn’t share that information. Alex on the bed screwed his eyes shut behind the blindfold, wished he could be swallowed by the bed.

“But… it was more. I wanted him to…”

Young Alex trailed off. It was too horrible for him to say without encouragement. Older Alex wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

“To what?” Dr Padash prompted.

“To… take me,” said Alex. “To … to …”

“To rape you?” Dr Padash asked.

Alex had not been able to answer. The answer was neither yes nor no. It was somewhere in between.

“He wasn’t exactly a villain,” said Alex. “And I … I wanted him.”

There was a soft click as Yassen, presumably, stopped the recording. After that, Alex had protested that he was disgusting for wanting such things, and they’d talked about the need not to judge on desires, only on actions. But Yassen would not have been interested in such things. In the present, he had Alex bound and at his mercy and knew all his secrets.

“You have not fought me,” said Yassen.

“I tried…” said Alex.

“No,” said Yassen, “You could have escaped before we got to the car. You could have escaped before we even left the club. You could have escaped your bonds while you were in the car. In your pocket there is still a paperclip that I assume you put there so you can pick locks, like those on handcuffs.”

He could no longer reach his pocket, but he suddenly felt the shape against his thigh.

“You could have tried to hurt me,” said Yassen.

Alex had no response. He bit his lip, squeezed his eyes shut.

“What do you want, little Alex?” Yassen asked.

His face was probably a flaming red, but in the darkness of the blindfold it didn’t matter.

“How did you … get that?” Alex asked, his voice choked now.

“Hacking is a skill of mine,” said Yassen, “They taught me well, between SCORPIA and MI6. What do you want, little Alex?”

Alex shook his head.

“I gave you five years of peace, little Alex,” said Yassen, “I made sure MI6 didn’t need you until you had been gone too long. You are of no use to them, now.”

“I was too broken to be used,” said Alex.

“Oh, no,” said Yassen, “there were many times Tulip Jones thought you were the only person who could do something. I made sure she knew you weren’t.”

“But… why?”

“Why did I protect you from MI6?” asked Yassen, “Or why did I kidnap you and tie you down?”

“Both!” said Alex.

“You can figure out both,” said Yassen. “But what do you want, little Alex?”

Alex writhed. He was wrung out, and exhausted and humiliated and more alive than he’d ever felt. What did he want?

“Can you escape?” Yassen asked.

Alex shook his head. He was trapped. It was the best thing that had ever happened.

“Are you hard?” Yassen asked.

Alex nodded. He was so hard, it was ridiculous.

Yassen suddenly pushed him over onto his back. He yelped at the pain it caused in his arms and legs, but then Yassen’s hand had unbuckled his belt and undone his jeans and was touching his cock, and he yelped with something else.

“Do you wish me to stop?” Yassen asked.

Alex shook his head.

He came with a cry after half a dozen strokes of Yassen’ hand. He’d never known anything like it. The burst of energy while his body was stretched and wrung out. The intensity of the endorphins with the adrenaline. He lay there, breathing hard for long moments. He flopped to the side and felt Yassen cut the cord on his feet, but he remained still for even longer.

Yassen Gregorovich, murderer, paid assassin, terrorist, sat beside him on the bed, a hand on his arm. He spoke no words. His heavy hand, a presence that calmed Alex, illogically. Or maybe it wasn’t illogical.

“You joined MI6 to keep me free of them?” Alex asked. He couldn’t have understood that part.

“MI6 would not have let me in to their world,” said Yassen, “But I worked for them on the understanding that they paid me well and never asked you to do anything else.”

“Until… you found the recordings and … decided…”

Yassen laughed. “No, I did not abandon MI6 so I might be free to pursue you,” he said. “I left because I can still earn more money working for other people. And I knew they would not follow you. They will not take you back, knowing you would spread your legs for me at a single harsh word.”

“Fuck you!” Alex snapped, but he was still post orgasmic and breathless.

“I suspect you’d rather I fucked you,” said Yassen.

The words made Alex shiver. He’d never felt so exposed. His very soul laid bare to Yassen Gregorovich, murderer and protector. Fantasy and nightmare. He half thought it a dream.

“Are you going to kill me?” Alex asked.

“Never,” said Yassen.

“Not even for millions of pounds?”

“You’re not worth a million pounds to anyone,” said Yassen.

“If someone offered you millions to kill me, would you?” Alex asked. “Seriously?”

“No,” said Yassen. “But you will not go back to MI6.”

“What if I do?” Alex asked.

“I will kidnap you and keep you in a former gulag in Siberia,” said Yassen.

Alex lifted his head. Without his sight, it was hard to tell if it was a joke.

“I will kidnap you,” said Yassen. “That part is not a joke.”

“So, you’re going to let me go, now?” Alex asked, carefully.

“Do you want me to let you go?” Yassen asked.

Alex thought about it. His hands were still cuffed behind his back, his face still half covered by the black cloth. He still felt captive. He still felt like electricity was rippling through his body.

“This is so fucked up,” he muttered.

“Yes,” said Yassen. “But so is everything else.”

Alex wriggled, got his legs under him, kneeled up and turned his blind eyes in the direction of Yassen. The bed moved under him, and he felt Yassen shift, too.

“What do you want, little Alex?” Yassen asked.

“I’m not ready,” said Alex.

“For what?” the assassin asked.

“I’m not ready for you to let me go,” Alex said.

Another moment of silence followed. Alex licked his lips. He knew what the position on his knees would suggest. He hoped Yassen took the suggestion. He hoped so much. He felt a hand on the back of his neck. It pulled him forward and down. He went with it, mouth open, willing.

“I should let you know,” said Yassen, “I am filming this.”

He pushed Alex’s face down before the younger man could respond. Alex flinched back, tried to pull away, but the hand on his neck was too harsh. There was already something pushing between his lips.

“Don’t worry,” Yassen told him, “I will only send it to MI6, and only if they try to recruit you. They need to see how unsuitable you are for their schemes.”

Alex fought the press on his head, pushing him downwards. It didn’t work, and the strength felt amazing. His hands were trapped, his knees unstable, he had no idea how close to the edge of the bed he was. His lips closed around the invader of his mouth. He could bite. If he bit, he could get himself free. But he wanted to suck.

…

When they had both orgasmed, Alex for a second time, Yassen pulled Alex’s blindfold free. Alex took that opportunity to kiss him. Hands still bound. It was clumsy. It lasted a long time.

“Do you want me to drive you back to Manhattan or leave you here?” Yassen asked. “I could bind you to the bed. How long would it take you to get free?”

“Minutes,” said Alex, honestly.

“But I couldn’t let you get excited and then leave you,” said Yassen. “I’ll drive you back.”

“There’s no need,” said Alex. “I can call MI6 by twisting a button on my shirt.”

Yassen smiled. “You… you are something else.”

“You’ll come back for me?” Alex asked.

“I will,” said Yassen.

“OK,” said Alex. He kissed Yassen again, and then lay back, and rolled back onto his shoulders, slipping his hands down his back and pulling his legs between them, until the cuffs were in front of him.

Yassen smiled. “I shall have to be more creative next time,” he said.

“I’m twisting the button now,” said Alex. “You’d better run.”

Yassen kissed him again, dominating his entire being. Then he was gone. Out of the room. There was no time at all before he heard the car start and drive off.

Alex lay back on the bed and thought of Yassen. Within fifteen minutes, a team ready to take on the Russian spy would descend upon the location. Alex considered binding himself again, to hide what had happened. But if Yassen had found those recordings, it was because they had been sent to MI6. They would know exactly what had happened. And it didn’t matter. Alex was useless to them. But now he was fine.

He would never have enough to be blackmailed. He would never spy again. But that didn’t matter. Now he had Yassen.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are adored.


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